


tonight (we are victorious)

by stardustandswimmingpools



Category: Wonder Woman (2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Character Death Fix, Diana is a BAMF, F/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, POV Steve Trevor, Steve Trevor Lives, True Love, WELL CONGRATULATIONS STEVE HERE IT IS BUDDY, Whump, congratulations dc. you played yourself, does it count as a sick fic if you nurse him back from the brink, i wish we had more time, of death, steve lived because deus ex machina. literally., steve trevor is jason grace: passes out in every scene, that's what happens when your female lead is a daughter of zeus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-03
Updated: 2019-06-03
Packaged: 2020-04-07 00:25:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19073746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stardustandswimmingpools/pseuds/stardustandswimmingpools
Summary: Something weird happened right before Steve died.He didn't.





	tonight (we are victorious)

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this awhile ago, after rewatching Wonder Woman, and then i never did anything with it because it felt unfinished. but i just came back to it in my WIPs folder in an effort to clear it out, and upon rereading i decided that actually it ends in an okay place. so now it's yours! call it a rhapsody for the upcoming film. i am excited. i love steve trevor and diana aka wonder woman. okay. carry on!  
> title is from Victorious by Panic! at the Disco, because i do what i want.

Something weird happened right before Steve died.

He didn't.

He felt the gun go off and his stomach twist at the same time, events directly affected by each other, two deaths, one human. He felt the gut-wrenching terror, the overwrought anxiety, the constant:  _ I'm going to die. I'm going to die. I'm going to kill myself. I'm going to die. _

And then he didn't die. 

He felt, also: flames, scorching heat. The vibrations of a necessary explosion.

Inside the cockpit, a shield of warm orange light swelled up and surrounded him. Steve's eyes were open for a split second. They flew shut in anticipation of  _ I'm going to die I'm going to die I'm going to kill myself I'm going to die _ .

For a second after the combustion, while the sounds muted, and his eyes were glued shut, he hypothesized:  _ so this is what being dead is. _

_ Thought it’d hurt more. _

Unfortunately he did not die, and  _ that  _ hurt a lot.

So did landing, in a blaze of what was not glory so much as bewildering discomfort. Steve felt: falling falling falling falling and the swooping sensation in his stomach that meant he was not dead but  _ falling _ .

And that meant landing.

Which he did, painfully sort of, as the orange glow around him flickered and faded out and he tumbled across the ashen grass like a lifeless dummy.

Appropriately, Steve thought:  _ shit. _

Something ached fiercely. Steve struggled to determine whether it was an identifiable body part or just his heart beating wildly and reaching out for Diana.

It was his entire body, in fact, pulsing with pain. But  _ also  _ his heart. Longing.

He stuttered himself into a sitting position, or a close enough approximation of one, above the grass and debris. When he stopped and checked, he found his hands, shaking violently.  _ Shit,  _ he thought again, and then thought  _ fuck _ for good measure.

He buried his hands into fistfuls of dirt and burnt grass and wished for something steadying.

His lungs did not agree with the airborne explosion. Drawing breath: a necessary evil. Someone or something had gone to great lengths, probably, to save his self-sacrificing ass, and to die from residual mustard gas would be, well, frankly disrespectful.

In the distance, where Steve postulated Diana would be, if anywhere, there was: a lot of things crashing, and a losing battle. Also an immeasurable amount of glowing red and orange.

Steve chanced a look up at the sky. It was grey and black and inscrutable now.  _ Nothing to see here,  _ it taunted.

Steve looked back at the explosive view.

He looked down at his hands.

They were still shaking.

_ Fuck _ , he decided, and his crumbling knees gave way easily to the collapse.

* * *

“This is familiar,” he muttered, when he came to still on the ground, staring at a face he recognized, drawn with concern. 

The face cycled through too many emotions for Steve, bleary-eyed and with a killer headache, but he isolated: Worry. Relief. Desperation. Joy.

_ Diana, _ his heart sang, before he was fully conscious.

“Diana,” he croaked, when he remembered he had vocal cords. His mouth hurt.

Diana did not smack him, which Steve appreciated, even though she kind of had the right to. She also did not kiss him, which was fair, because he didn't have the right to that.

She stared at him and burst into tears.

The gross sobbing spurred him into action (after all these years and his battle cry was as simple as the woman he loved in tears) and he scrambled backwards into what he hoped was a steady enough sitting position to not give way. And then he wrapped his arms around her and tried to be reassuring. It may not have been working. He still reeked of soot and death.

The sobbing sounded something like:  _ Steve, I thought, you died, the plane, exploded, Ares, I love you, I'm sorry, don't ever, I'll kill you, I love you _ , and then Steve lost track because his head  _ really  _ hurt.

Also she had a vicelike grip on his shoulder. He'd never expected pain to be a welcome feeling until the pain was corroborating:  _ I didn't die I'm alive I killed myself and survived _ .

“Diana,” he managed, “listen, this is — I'm sorry, I am, but can we do this later...like after. Fifty thousand painkillers. And a long nap. And then we'll do this, I promise.”

Diana drew back and gave him the full force of her intense gaze. It was too much (Steve was fragile and also? He may have twisted a muscle or something in the fall). He withered.

“Yes,” she said. Her voice was hoarse, uniquely so, something unexpected from such an undefeatable woman. Her hand stroked his cheek, which was warm, and that might have felt comforting, but it was also warm. And warm was a temperature Steve preferred not to think about ( _ the heat in the plane and the trigger and the gun and the explosion and the orange glow like a sun swallowing him _ ). “Yes, of course, you need rest. Rest. Come.”

She picked him up carefully, bridal-style. Steve thought:  _ Etta’s going to laugh at this mental image. _

Diana leapt into the air, Steve’s stomach pitched, and then his brain went:  _ no thanks, not again, _ and shut down.

* * *

“Sammy says that soup is good for the soul,” was what he woke up to hear.

Eyes cracked open, he saw a spoon levitating in the air in front of him. Upon closer assessment: it was not levitating. His eyes had just not opened enough yet to acknowledge the hand attached to the spoon.

“Please don't feed me,” he mumbled. “I'll develop a complex.”

“Eat,” the angelic voice that _ might  _ have been Death insisted. Steve's higher brain function said:  _ not Death. Just Diana. _

Which was nicer.

He opened his eyes wider, a sliver. There she was, in ruffled, disassembled glory. And a plain gray t-shirt that was tattered to pieces.

Steve opened his mouth and Diana fed him a spoonful of soup. It was sloshy and thick. Not that good. Also, only lukewarm. Manageable for Steve mentally, but physiologically, kind of gross.

He didn't mention it. Being a soldier had taught him: be grateful when there's food in your mouth.

He swallowed.

“What time…”

And then trailed off. There was no way Diana would know that. And she had his watch.

Wordlessly, she unfastened it from her wrist. Held it out to him.

He shook his head. “Keep it.”

“Your father…”

“I meant what I said,” Steve told her, seriously. “I wanted more time for us, and I got it. That was a gift, not a condition. Keep it. It's yours. I'll teach you to read it.”

Diana gave him that beseeching look. “Your plane exploded,” she said. “And yet you lived. How…”

Steve could only say, “Honestly, Diana, I don't know,” because he didn't. But he suspected. So he added: “There was this light...this orange light, like a shield around me just as the plane, you know... _ kaboom. _ ” Mimed an explosion with his hand.

Diana was listening intently. She echoed, “Orange light? Shielding you?”

Steve nodded.

Diana took his hand ( _ shaking, even now, but still and steady as he pulled the trigger _ ) and gripped it tightly. She blinked. A teardrop slid down her nose, onto a blanket covering him.

“Do not ever,” she whispered, choked up, “ _ ever _ do that again.”

Steve had no plans to. Unless absolutely necessary. He really did not enjoy the moment before death. In hindsight, the anticipation might have been worse than actually biting the bullet. Metaphorically speaking. Literally speaking, the bullet ( _ just one spark enough to set off all the gas and destroy it all _ ) had come from him.

“Diana,” he said. “I love you.”

The beseeching look came back, dialed up to 110%.

“I love you, Steve Trevor,” she said. “I will be here while you rest.”

Thank God for that. Steve felt like he could sleep through another goddamn war.

Oh, the war. Fuck. Right.

“The war,” he said aloud, an unposed question.

Diana studied her hands, or maybe his hands, which were probably dirty and disgusting and unworthy of study.

“Ares is dead,” she said. “And the people are rejoicing.”

Well, hell.

“You did it,” Steve said, encouraging as he could muster from the totally prone position he currently occupied. He squeezed her hand gently. “Hey, Diana. You won.”

“It would have felt like a loss if you had not lived.”

“But I did,” Steve reminded her. He was grasping at straws, here; for all he knew he  _ had  _ died, and either this was heaven or hell or someone up there couldn't decide and had sent him both. “Victory all around. Go us.”

“Victory,” Diana echoed. Steve tasted: ash, bitterness. Blood. Blood? He swallowed experimentally and determined: cut tongue. Probably because he bit down on it while  falling to his undeath. “It is many things,” Diana finally concluded. “I had expected simply joy, but it is...loss, as well.”

“Not me,” Steve said. “You killed Ares, saved my life, we stopped the war. That feels like three wins, to me.”

Momentarily, Diana focused entirely on his face, sincere. “This,” she allowed, bringing her hand up to his neck, “feels like a win.”

He would have kissed her then if (1) she'd leaned in for it and (2) he'd been capable of basic motor function. Unfortunately, neither of these things came to be.

But there was a promise, there. In her sad smile. He closed his eyes and smiled too.

They had time, now.

The watch ticked reassuringly.

* * *

When Steve finally woke up he decided he was never sleeping again. He was sick of being bedridden, and besides, closing his eyes only led to the inevitable memory ( _ one twitch of the finger I'm going to die uncontained explosions and falling so hard _ ).

Awake, Steve kicked the covers off himself and immediately gagged at the stench. “ _ Ho _ ly mama. I need a shower. I need six showers.”

But first.

Where was he. And where were his friends. Where was Diana.

The room: bare, scantily furnished. A bed with no frame, a dresser with a broken drawer, a door off of the room that Steve guessed led to a bathroom. Hopefully stocked with a shower.

Himself (at a glance, a preliminary assessment, if you would): charcoal streaks on his purloined German suit, paired with tiny rips and tears every few inches (from the fall, Steve presumed, and remembered aching). Half the buttons had snapped. His pants were cuffed sloppily ( _ Diana, _ his mind supplied, which he didn't recall her doing, but it made sense). A hand in his hair documented grease and grime.

A shower sounded like a goddamn miracle right now.

He listened for noise out the closed door; Sammy or Diana or anyone else he'd recognize. 

Summoned by his finally-focused ears, sounds slithered under the door and he heard Diana: “Ares was only the first step.”

“We can't go around shivving gods we can't even quantifiably prove the existence of!” Chief.

“We are not  _ shivving. _ The gods exist. Zeus is my father, and it is my responsibility as daughter of Hippolyta, Queen of the Amazons, and Zeus, King of the Gods, to locate the other gods and —”

“Slow your roll.” Charlie. “Slow your, just, slow down, Diana. What the fuck?”

“I said —”

“I heard you. Forgive me, it'll take a second to sink in. What the  _ shit _ ?”

Steve yanked the door open, and the four faces of his friends turned and stared.

“What?” he said, eyes on Diana. “Sorry to eavesdrop, couldn't help but overhear...Zeus?”

Diana bravely did not drop his gaze. She held steady and took a breath and said, “Perhaps we should talk in private.” She turned back to the trio of men and said, “You have all been great help. Thank you.”

“Ah, whatever,” said Sammy, waving her off. “What are friends for if not for nursing their other friends back to health? Or something.” He shooed her out.

Diana smiled. Steve’s heart said:  _ oh, man. _

Steve agreed.

She stepped past him through the door and Steve closed it behind her. He turned, and in the six inches between their faces there were:

Questions (unasked, unanswered).

Worry (assuaged, inevitable).

Heat (fierce, crackling like fire).

Steve’s heartbeat going goddamn wild. Nothing else to that.

He cleared his throat. “We should, uh…”

“Talk,” Diana finished, but her eyes searched over his face in a distinctly mute manner.

Steve's mouth went dry.

_ No, _ said his very intelligent brain, currently working overtime to keep him in check.  _ Steve, talking now. Kissing later. _

He forced himself backwards from her, but in an act of self-compromise also took her hand. This seemed to content her.

“I agree,” he said. “You...have some things to explain.”

They sat down on the bed and Steve thought,  _ goddamn it I said I wouldn't be back here. _ Diana sat cross-legged.

“I am not who I thought I was,” she confessed.

_ Yeah, no kidding. _

“I told you the truth about my father,” Diana continued. She bit her lip. “I did not realize what…” 

Steve was getting the anguished vibes between their space, so he squeezed her hand. “Hey, it's — it's okay. Take your time. We have time.” Now, anyway.

Diana smiled a small, grateful smile. It was like a breath of fresh air from the last thick of hours. Speaking of which — what was the date? Right, table that question. He chose to hold onto it for a later time.

After a breath, Diana pushed through. “Ares said that I am a goddess. Only a god can kill another god. It was not the sword. It was me — I was the god-killer all along.”

Steve waited.

“My mother must have known,” said Diana, as if realizing this only now. “She knew I was the God-Killer, that it was my duty to kill Ares, and still she tried to stop me.”

“She didn't,” Steve reminded her, because. Diana and her mother clearly had a connection that was too special for regular human words. And Hippolyta hadn't meant harm. “She was trying to protect you, Diana, but she let you go anyway.”

Diana sighed. “You're right, of course. I miss her. The Amazons.”

Steve wanted to say  _ I'm sure they miss you too _ , but he didn't know them that well. And Diana was already moving on.

“I was telling the men, now that I know my place in the world, it is my duty to hunt down the other gods and tell them the truth. What you said, that the war is in men, not in Ares...it was true. The war is not over. Every day, more news of disaster.” She gestured helplessly towards the door. Steve could only imagine: Diana, listening to a staticky radio on its third day of spouting bullshit. Hearing the casualties climb. Reports of war as if they were weather. “Killing Ares was my duty. It was the right first step, but now I must find the other gods and ask for their aid.”

“Just,” Steve said, “one thing.”

Diana afforded him this contribution by raising a reticent eyebrow.

“ _ We _ have to find the other gods,” he corrected. “I'm coming with you.”

Diana exhaled sharply, like she'd only halfway expected that from him, and then surged forward and kissed him.

Steve’s wrist was killing him, and he had yet to take a shower, and he still wasn't 100% positive this wasn't all some big hallucination or an effect of the afterlife, but goddamn, he kissed her back.

He'd sacrificed himself in the name of love (and God and country, but those were irrelevant). He fucking deserved to get his comeuppance on that end.

**Author's Note:**

> yeah anyway in this house Steve Trevor lives because i said so. hope you liked it! and if you did hit me with a comment it really makes my day!! i'm on tumblr @[vivilevone](http://vivilevone.tumblr.com) so come chat if you want. bye!!


End file.
